


Teamwork

by st_aurafina



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/F, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 17:36:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3701011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/st_aurafina/pseuds/st_aurafina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peggy would have preferred that she didn't have a chair strapped to her bottom the next time she ran into Dottie Underwood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teamwork

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to lilacsigil for the beta.

Peggy had just freed her ankles when her captors came back to the small room, but she had yet to work at the rope around her waist, which meant the chair came with her when she turned to face the men. It wouldn't have bothered her – the chair was solid timber and would make a fine bludgeon – except that the men had a woman in their grasp. Peggy would have preferred that she didn't have a chair strapped to her bottom the next time she ran into Dottie Underwood. 

Dottie, or whatever her name was this time, had obviously given the men a run for their money. One peered through rapidly blackening eyes, while another's nose pointed in an entirely wrong direction, streaming blood down his face. Dottie smiled, faintly supercilious despite her split lip. Peggy hoped that expression meant that she had a plan for escape, and not just a sense of superiority at seeing her nemesis wearing a chair. 

The leader kept himself carefully distant from Dottie's legs, with his gun raised. His Russian was clipped and professional. "If you won't follow orders, you can go in with the English cow. I might as well finish you both." 

The henchmen exchanged a worried glance, and nudged Dottie forward. She walked slowly to stand beside Peggy and her chair. 

"Agent Carter," said Dottie, pointedly polite despite Peggy's predicament. "It's been so long." Her voice was cool and measured, now that she'd dropped the country twang and the gee-whiz tone of constant surprise. 

Peggy eyed the men in front of them, weighing up the battle ahead. "Shall I call you Dottie? We were never able to track down your actual name." She tipped her head forward and to the right, to indicate she would be swinging in that direction first, if Dottie was watching, and if she deigned to fight for them both when her life was in danger. 

"Enough talking!" shouted the captain, and raised his gun. "The treacherous bitch first." 

Peggy was moving before his finger had reached the trigger. She leapt forward and swung the bulk of the chair tied to her waist into the man on the right. He stumbled sideways into his compatriot, swearing. The muzzle of the captain's revolver swivelled towards Peggy, before Dottie reached out with one long leg and hooked his chin with the heel of her shoe. One sharp twist, and his neck snapped. 

"God, I wish I could get my leg up that high," Peggy said, envious. The chair had slipped a little, forcing her to stand half bent over. It was incredibly inelegant and starting to hurt her back. 

Dottie smoothed her skirt down, though it was not at all askew, despite the gymnastic movement. "Ballet is a very athletic art-form," she said, and turned on the henchmen. They fell to their knees, cowering and begging for their lives. 

"Excuse me," said Peggy, not particularly wanting to see them go the way of the captain when they might have useful intelligence to impart. "But weren't you supposed to be working with these men?" 

Dottie paused, and tilted her head thoughtfully. "Yes, those were my orders." Her expression was speculative. 

"That doesn't sound very much like you," Peggy said, working the rope at her waist. She needed to be free of this damn chair before Dottie decided to take action against her. 

"Orders are orders," said Dottie. "Even stupid orders, I suppose. But there's a woman downstairs, and she's not, well, she's not one of us." She glanced at Peggy, as if for confirmation that this was not to be borne. 

Peggy stopped struggling with her bonds. "Yes, there have been some incidents with mistreated prostitutes. It's how I was able to find this base." 

"I don't like that." Dottie delicately hoisted her skirt up one leg, to reveal a leather sheath strapped to her thigh. She pulled the knife out, and the men on the floor whimpered and cringed. Peggy prepared to fight for her life with a chair strapped to her backside. Again. 

Instead, Dottie pulled the knife through the rope at Peggy's waist. "Will you take care of her? The woman?" Her voice was diffident, as if she'd be as comfortable killing the prostitute downstairs as saving her. 

Peggy finally freed herself from the damn chair. "Of course I will." 

"Oh, how wonderful!" Dottie's voice was delighted, as though she'd won a prize at the county fair, though her expression did not quite match her words. There was a ferocity in her eyes, vivid and alive, something quite different to anything Peggy had seen in her before. Dottie was rebelling, she realised. Raised to be the perfect soldier, Dottie was beginning to make her own decisions. It was really very beautiful, despite the life-threatening situation. 

"Do you ever think about that kiss?" she asked, suddenly. 

Dottie sheathed her knife carefully against her thigh and settled her skirt back into position. "No, not particularly," she said, and reached out to stroke Peggy's cheek. 

Peggy forced herself to stay very still, not wanting to startle Dottie out of this odd, pensive mood. 

Dottie smiled, a dangerous curve to her red lips. "But I think that perhaps I will." She turned, her skirt swinging about her legs, and left the room, leaving Peggy to sort out the damage.


End file.
